Preparing for an embryo transfer… again

Here we go again… today’s Day 13 of my cycle and we’re going to try and defrost one of our five guys and pop him in the (metaphorical) oven next week. I’m excited. We’re doing a natural cycle, which means I don’t need to take any drugs, but they still need to figure out exactly when I ovulate so they know the best time to put an embryo back in.

So far I’ve had two blood tests to see how my hormones are tracking. They’ve both come back low, which means it’ll be a few days yet of the human pin cushion. It’s likely I will need to have one every day from tomorrow until after I’ve ovulated. In a text book situation they put the embryo back on Day 19, but that presumes you ovulate on Day 14. Mine’s likely going to be a bit later than that.

It’s summer here where we live, and we’re supposed to be going camping in the weekend. There’s only one place that does urgent blood tests on a Sunday morning, and while its only 20 minutes away from our place, its an hour and a half away from our campsite. Damn! But! Perspective. Having to leave our camping trip half way through versus possibly having a child that we’ve been hoping for over three years now…

My colleague that used to sit next to me had her baby last week. I saw a lot of very pregnant photos of her on Facebook, in a bikini, at parties, that sort of thing. I felt twinges of sadness and “I wish that was me”, but what was hard was hearing that’d she had called her baby girl exactly the same name as we had pinned for a baby girl. And it is an unusual name too – the only one we agreed on.

It’s a bit of a pickle, really. Maybe it means that name was not meant to be. And who knows if we would still be as keen on it if we did eventually have a girl. Or maybe it means talking with her and explaining why we’d like to use that name too. Maybe we’ll have a boy one day and it will never matter!

Just another one of the less obvious things that people with secondary infertility face, I guess.

Anyway, back to the next couple of weeks. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

Advertisements

2018: it’s our year!

Today I got a call from our gynaecologist. I wasn’t expecting a call, so it caught me a bit off guard as I sat down behind my desk at work.

“We’ve got the results back from the re-biopsied embryos from your first round of IVF”, he said. “Oh! And?” Given that our first round of IVF had yielded two normal embryos out of the ten biopsied. So I was expecting him to tell us, “sorry, but there were no normal embryos” or at best, “we’ve got one normal embryo”.

Imagine my surprise then when he confirmed that, “two out of three of the embryos are normal.” I was so shocked, in a great way, that I sort of muttered, “oh, really! Well! Umm, that’s great!” Before I knew it I was calling my husband and texting my family about the ridiculous result.

Just before Christmas we’d also been told that three out of the ten embryos from our second round of IVF were normal. I’d taken that as a victory, given we got two out of ten last time.

Now we’ve got five embryos!! Five!! Bloody hell! I immediately and irrationally started dreaming about having six children. Silly, but hey, I think I deserved a little daydream.

This is going to be our year, I just know it.

Pregnant again, spotting again

We have talked at length about whether we should even attempt to conceive naturally after only one of our six pregnancies has ended with a healthy, live baby and only two out of 13 of our fertilised IVF embryos were found to have the correct number of chromosomes.

Following the failure of our latest IVF round, we thought “fuck it”. We didn’t have any normal embryos left, only three that were “inconclusive”. It was as good as trying naturally.

So today I discovered that I am pregnant, again. And I am already spotting, again. Naturally, I feel a mixture of positivity and negativity but, let’s be honest, largely negativity. Every miscarriage I have had has started with light spotting from an early date. With my son, nothing. I’m convinced my boobs already hurt less than they did yesterday. I expect that this might be another chemical pregnancy.

I have cried a bit today with disappointment, but I am certainly becoming more accepting of the idea that we may well not have a second child. And it won’t be for lack of trying!

Post-miscarriage rock bottom

I starting writing these posts as a way of trying to process my thoughts and get through the worst of times with minimum damage. As I sit here now, three years after we started trying to get pregnant a second time, I wonder if it’s working or not. You see, this week I hit rock bottom (again).

It’s a familiar place for me, having terminated a pregnancy at 16 weeks for medical reasons, having lost five other babies including failed IVF (most recently and inexplicably to a virus), and having multiple surgeries including for Asherman’s Syndrome. All this has been in the last three years.

Rock bottom happened to me four nights ago. I was feeling better. The cloud of bewilderment and sadness from losing our little guy to a virus was starting to lift. I was at the movies and when the lights came up I saw a text. My heart sunk as I read beyond the first line. My sister-in-law had some news and she had trouble deciding when to tell us. I knew even before I read on. She was pregnant. I didn’t really read the rest of the message. My heart instantly clenched, as did my whole body and the tears flowed. I couldn’t breathe. I started to shake and tried to tell my friends what was wrong. But I was having an out of body experience. I couldn’t talk.

My friends held my arm and walked me to my car. I would never have found my way back to the car park without them. I realised at the car they were probably concerned I would crash the car and we’d end up in a fiery ball of flames and front page news, so I forced myself to calm down. I asked my friend to talk about herself. It helped.

How did this news cause such a reaction from me? I was well used to hearing of pregnancies, and within the family. I think there were two things. The first is obvious, I had miscarried 10 days earlier. The grief was so raw and I hadn’t dealt with it properly (nor had time to do so) beyond tears, reflection and a building sense of anger.

The second is that I always believed we would get pregnant well before my sister-in-law. She hadn’t known her partner for long, about a year and a half, and I had expected that we would first at least get the warning shot of an engagement before a pregnancy announcement.

The shock was immense and it destroyed in seconds whatever tenuous structure I had built for myself to lean upon and get through this. It has forced open a wound that I am not sure how to sew back together. I feel a permanent pain in my chest, a squeezed heart. My head is fuzzy.

In hindsight though, I knew that children were a priority for her. I love my sister-in-law heaps and she deserves every happiness, but I will find it hard seeing her pregnant. It’s shit that these things just impose themselves on you and make you a person you don’t really want to be. The positive about feeling like you’re at a real low point is that surely the the only way is up!

 

 

Another miscarriage: surviving the plane crash

I miscarried last night. Our sixth loss in a row. As I looked at the blood in the toilet I wondered which little speck was our guy, and felt sorry for him having to end things in such an undignified way. I had cramps, but they weren’t too bad. I was glad that we had miscarried now, at 5w2d and not later into the pregnancy. I’m glad I didn’t need medical intervention, especially surgery after all the trouble I’ve had with my lining from my previous surgeries.

I can still barely believe what happened. After my son was diagnosed as having a virus, perhaps slap cheek, I was unwell for days. Dizzy, headachy, nauseated, fatigued. I put it down to early pregnancy hormones. But then, at 4w6d, I got a hot, red, itchy rash over almost my entire body. My worst nightmare had come true. I had a serious illness. I saw my doctor and she said that the embryo would have had, “no chance”. She said she’d have diagnosed me with German measles if I didn’t show good immunity to it from previous blood tests. Honestly, WTF. I haven’t had a virus like that since I was a kid.

I feel as though I have been in a plane crash and have realised that I have survived, but have no idea what to do next. I am a bit paralysed by what has transpired over the last couple of weeks. I think I will have to take some steps to seek out a counsellor, even though the last counsellor I spoke to was like a brick wall and left me feeling no better than before.

We have some big decisions to make. When we first began thinking about having our second child, I imagined and expected that we would have a two year age gap. I was so upset when that gap became two and a half years, then three years, but each time I gradually came around to it. When the gap was two years people asked my constantly about when and whether we would have a second child. Now they don’t say anything.

We are staring down the barrel of a gap of around four and a half to five years if we try again and succeed. I feel as though the gap is getting out of control. Perhaps I am being unfair to everyone who had a close relationship with their siblings growing up with a large age gap, but to me it is starting to feel pointless having two children with quite different childhoods. And putting ourselves through all the sleeplessness again when our lives feel so easy now.

But then I think about the rest of my son’s life. Once you’re in your twenties, that five year gap becomes smaller and smaller. It would eventually become insignificant – surely. Thinking about my son having a sibling for the rest of his life gives me the resolve to consider doing another round of IVF.

The alternative is quite scary. There must be so many couples out there that decide enough is enough, we have given it our best but our relationship and family and sanity must prevail over more attempts. We are so close to this point. I just don’t know if I have quite reached it yet. We wanted this so much, and when I saw that positive pregnancy test a week ago the age gap issue floated out of my thinking completely. I was just happy that we were pregnant.

Broken hearted

I knew as soon as I answered the phone. The nurse’s voice was solemn, she asked if it was OK to talk. I braced myself. “Your HcG has actually dropped since the last reading. It was 206 and now it’s 196. I’m so sorry.” When she didn’t explain that it was possible that things could still be OK I realised that I was having a miscarriage. Again. I’ve actually lost count what number we are up to. I started sobbing on the phone almost immediately. The nurse asked if I was OK. “Of course I’m not OK!” We agreed that I would do another blood test on Monday but it barely mattered. Embryo number six will not make it.

I text my husband even though he was at lunch. I figured he should know. And then I completely broke down. I lay on my bed and I cried so much. And I’m crying again now as I write this through my tears. My heart is broken again.

We’re pregnant! Well, maybe?

I took a pregnancy test on Friday. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I was hopeful. It was a First Response early result test, the only ones I use after all these years of trying. And there it was, two strong pink lines. Pregnant! I was not as excited as I thought I would be, more relieved. And happy.

Things changed quite quickly though. I took my son to the doctor as he had a strange rash on his face and legs. The doctor didn’t know for sure, but suspected that he had a virus commonly called slap cheek. She said “make sure he stays away from pregnant woman and anyone that’s not well.” I said, ‘but I’m pregnant! I just found out today!!” The doctor suggested I take my son to a grandparent, but we didn’t have anyone in the city. She said I probably already had the virus anyway if I was going to catch it, and there was nothing I could do. It was possible I could miscarry.

I was beyond distraught. What were the chances of this happening to us ever, let alone the day I find out that I’m pregnant. I was so upset. When my husband came home he thought the worst as he saw my teary face poke through the door. He suggested that I move out for the weekend. I didn’t want to call on my friends on a Friday night, but he was right. I did. I was in exile. We told my son that I was sick and needed to stay away from him.

When I looked into slap cheek further, I read that many people develop immunity to the virus from being exposed as a child. If you do catch it when pregnant though it can cause miscarriage as the virus attacks the red blood cells of the baby. It made me so worried.

The next day, my wonderful friends made me scrambled eggs for breakfast and took me to the zoo with their daughter. We had a lovely day, although after walking for a couple of hours I was pretty exhausted. In hindsight, I think that walk did something to my back, because the next day I woke in agonising pain. It radiated across my shoulders and down my arms. It radiated down my back and hips and legs. I was paranoid as hell that I had caught the virus. Why else would I be in such pain all over my body??! But almost as soon as the pain arrived, it was gone. The next morning I awoke basically pain free. Maybe I was OK. Maybe I didn’t have the virus!

Then the spotting started. FFS. Only the slightest, slightest bit of light brown spotting, not enough for anyone else to probably ever notice, but enough to freak me out completely. And I noticed it across three days. My first miscarriage began with spotting, albeit a bright red spot. The loss of the first of the twins began with spotting. I never had spotting with my other pregnancies. Fair to say then I have been a tad anxious.

The last couple of days I’ve felt fairly dizzy and queasy, and lacklustre. I’ve spent a lot of time sleeping. I’ll periodically poke my poor boobs to check that they still feel sore, and they seem to. I feel as though I should still be pregnant, but its anyone’s guess really. I’m expecting a phone call soon from the clinic to let me know if my HcG has risen as expected from my initial reading of 206 at 16DPO. It reminds me a little of the call I waited to receive from BEP (beedy eyed peepus), my obstetrician, to confirm whether or not our previous pregnancy had a trisomy. Every minute is taking a lifetime.